One Night in Johannesburg
by kildeez
Summary: In an alternative world, humanity is divided among Kiedran, Humans, and Basitin. Trace Van Rooyen is a cop under apartheid-occupied South Ariga, living an empty life of booze and drink. Then he meets the Tiger Kiedran Flora Ferreira...
1. Chapter 1

The man sneered at the creature below him, "Look at you," he bellowed, "Nothing but a shell of your former self. I'd have a hard time believing you were the Mask of Neutral if I'd just met you."

The creature looked up at him through a shattered mask. She knew he was right: she knew how broken she was, how powerless now that human and Kiedran were locked in war.

"Though, I really hafta hand it to you," the man shrugged, "Stopping you wasn't as easy as I'd thought it would be. I mean, all I had to do was ignite a war between two races that hated eachother, and it took me months of manipulation and planning before it all came through.

So you wanna hear it? The big flaw in your plan that I managed to see and exploit?"

"It was the girl," the creature said, pulling the cloak tighter around herself, "Right?"

"Ah, but how did I know it was the girl?" With a wave of his hand, the image of a certain tiger Kiedran appeared at his side. After a few seconds, she was joined by a blue-haired human, who promptly grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her. The man dismissed the images with another wave of his hand. "How could I have been so certain that I could keep them together even while you drove them apart, filling her heart with hate and rage? How did I know their relationship was strong enough to keep her from her duty and forge an alliance that could hold back the human onslaught?"

The creature shrugged, "Lucky guess?"

Tossing back his head, the man burst with laughter that filled the chamber, echoing into the emptiness beyond its marble walls and setting the creature on edge with its maniacal sound, "Was that an attempt at humor, Ephemural?" He gasped once he'd managed to control himself, "Or are you now too delirious from your waning power to even make a decent guess?"

The creature shrugged again, but said nothing.

"No, my dear Ephemural, it was so much more than a guess," he waved his hand again, stirring the air around him into another vision, "I based my moves off destiny itself."

The creature bolted upright, managing to find the strength to actually stand, "You're saying you've seen the plan? But the creator won't let anyone see it! Not even us!"

"Of course I haven't seen the plan. But I did make an educated guess as to what was in it," he motioned to the vision now forming at his side, "Behold, see why your plan was always doomed from the start, and why my race will soon overrun this planet as they have so many others."

The creature, of course, knew she had no choice in this little matter. She didn't have the strength to resist him, and besides, she had to know just what could give the man so much confidence in his own power. And so she sat and watched the image unfold itself, revealing the secrets of another universe to her.

Sunday night. Johannesburg. Another club. Another floor lit with pulsating light panels and crowded with shaking, convulsing teenagers he should probably bust for possession, but didn't because of the roll of hundred-pound notes the owner slipped him not twenty minutes ago.

The blue-haired man turned from the balcony overlooking the dance floor, leaving his scotch forgotten on the railing. Why did he keep doing this? As a Templar, he could be tried for treason if he was ever caught accepting bribes (although half the Templar garrison in this town was taking bribes from someone or another, so really that danger was about as imminent as a swarm of flying pigs landing on his head). He didn't even need the money. He'd resolved his debts months ago and had his apartment refurbished just last year. High-quality furniture, too, the best South-Arigan craftsmen could offer. So was it the thrill that kept him coming to the town's red-light district, hitting up sleazy club owners and drinking the same scotch-on-rocks? Maybe.

More likely, it was just boredom.

A couple high-schoolers waltzed by behind him, one of them tossing a cute little glance over her shoulder as she went to join her friends on the floor below. '_Not in your dreams, sister,' _he thought as he smiled and waved back. He was a corrupt cop, not a pedophile! Besides, he already had his fill of empty sex for the weekend. No need to add anymore.

"Freshen up your drink, sir?" A timid voice asked behind him. He turned to see the most beautiful Kiedran girl he'd ever gazed upon standing there, with a platter balanced precariously on her fingertips. Her golden eyes, normally the ones that should be lighting up a room, were cast downwards in the usual sign of Kiedran subjugation. Her fur shone somehow in the dim light of the bar, her long, scarlet hair drifted just over her shoulders.

"Sir?" She asked, backing up a few steps as his gaze wore on, "Sir, is something the matter?"  
"NO!" He gasped suddenly, stilling his beating heart. "No…I'm done drinking, thank you."  
"Thank you, sir." She replied before turning to leave.

He watched her return to the bar just behind him, sliding back into place in time for a bunch of drunk teenagers to start barking orders at her. He let himself watch her for a minute before turning back to the dance floor.

"What the hell're you doing, Trace?" He grumbled to himself. "She's a Kiedran, you're a Templar, tasked with keeping her kind in check! Could you even imagine the scandal!"

Oh yes, the scandal, THAT'S what he was afraid of, not the inevitable jerk of a hangman's noose around his neck! The only reason the Templar hadn't nailed him and half his buddies for corruption yet was due to them keeping their heads low and doing their jobs when needed. If anything like this ever got out…

Then again, that's what would make this exciting, isn't it? And a night with a Kiedran would certainly be a long-overdue change. Besides, maybe she knew someone who shared his particular…viewpoint on how things in this country should go. Maybe she could provide a way into the resistance: Lord knows he had tried on his own. He was dreaming, of course, why would a bartender know anything about the Kiedran Oppositional Front? Still, it gave him the excuse he needed to push himself away from the balcony railing and head over to the bar.

This was going to be one of those nights, wasn't it? One of those crazy nights when he might wind up anywhere at all, just like in college. God willing this wouldn't end with him waking up naked on the football field with his boxers on top of a flagpole again, but still, his hands shook with anticipation as he approached the bar.

"Can I help you, sir?" She asked with a voice that summoned a choir of angels to sing in each ear. In that moment, just that one moment, it didn't matter that she was a Kiedran and he was a human. It didn't matter that fur covered her skin, or that her ears were perched atop her head, or that fangs covered her incisors. He wanted to be with her, just hold her close and take in the very scent of…holy crap, what was he talking about! This lovey-dovey shit wasn't him!

"Sir?" She asked again, "Did you need something?"

"Yes!" He gasped rather suddenly. He needed to clear his head, "Um…rum and coke! No ice!"

She nodded, keeping her head down and her eyes on the ground just as years of training had taught her. But he didn't want that! He wanted to gaze into those eyes for the rest of the night and never look back, he wanted to see her talk and laugh with every bit of her heart! Holy shit, he was pretty far gone, wasn't he!

A shot glass slid into his hand and she walked to the opposite side of the bar, hips swaying ever so slightly beneath the tight-fitting, black waitress' pants she wore. He took one look at the glass before downing its contents with a single gulp, hoping to ask for another just to have her attention for a few more minutes. Unfortunately, her hands are still full with the other morons surrounding the bar. The Friday crowd was really testing the lone bartender to her limits, there was just no way he could even hope to occupy her time. Damn, just how was he going to even go about seducing her if she was so…

A bottle of Jack Daniel's, already perched precariously on a lower shelf, brushed against her tail as she turned. He saw it, made a move to grab for it, but it was too late. It smashed into the ground with a loud crash that drew the attention of everyone at the bar. Whiskey immediately spread out over the tiled floor as a look of hopeless fear filled those gorgeous golden eyes. She stooped over to start gathering up a few shards, just in time for a second bottle from the crowd to bounce off the back of her skull. She collapsed into the puddle while some drunk-off-his-ass frat boy vaulted the bar and screamed at her barely conscious body: "Stupid bitch! I wanted that!"

"Yeah, teach the klutz!" Someone in the crowd jeered as frat boy's foot connected with her ribcage. Another bottle narrowly missed her head as she howled in pain, and the crowd suddenly surged forward in search of some blood to cool off some of the steam it had built up.

The blue-haired man didn't know how, but all of a sudden the gun on his leg holster was firing up into the air while he shouted: "Stop! In the name of the Templar!"

The whole bar fell silent almost immediately. The only sound came from the speakers mounted near the dance floor, and even that ended as the DJ lifted the needle off his record.

The gun leveled itself on frat boy, "Get back, now!" He bellowed.

"Hey man, I'm just doin' your job for ya," frat boy chuckled, obviously way too drunk to offer the Templar with a pistol even the semblance of respect. "You're the one who's supposed t'be keepin' the li'l furfags in check."

For some reason, he really wanted to kill frat boy right then and there. It'd be easy: Pow, pow, right in the chest, just like he'd been trained. But he'd also been trained to suppress any animalistic urges. He may have been corrupt, but he was still a professional, after all.  
"Help her up!" He screamed at frat boy, "Now!"

Frat boy's nose scrunched up in disgust, "You seriously want me to touch…"

He was interrupted by a single gunshot, and a split-second later frat boy's knee cap had been replaced with a mass of splintered bone and assorted gore. And just like that, frat boy's on the ground, swearing his head off. The whole crowd fell completely silent, any attempts to laugh this off as just another drunk off-duty cop waving his pistol around completely vanished.

"You!" He screamed, switching targets to another face in the crowd. The new hostage's eyes widened while his hands rose.

"Hey man," the new target whined, "I didn't do nothin'!"

"Help her up! NOW!" That finally did it. The wide-eyed man vaulted the bar and helped the Kiedran up. Finally, the blue-haired man could see what a dire state she was in: her whole face a bloody, furry mess, her blood staining the front of her apron and soaking into her uniform.

"Now take 'er up front!" He bellowed, waving the pistol from side-to-side at the crowd, "Nobody follows, understand!"

The crowd obeyed perfectly, clearing a path for the wide-eyed man as he carried the unconscious Kiedran. The blue-haired man soon joined them, thrusting his pistol into the face of anyone who so much as looked at him funny. Fortunately, everyone learned their lesson from frat boy, still bleeding all over the tile behind the bar, and the trio made it outside to the blue-haired man's cruiser without so much as an intimidating stare.

After some short and simple instruction, the kid helped the Kiedran into the passenger seat and even buckled her seatbelt while the blue-haired man hopped into the driver's seat, not once allowing the gun's sights to slip off the kid. Soon he was driving away, nothing but another set of taillights in the darkness of the South Arigan bush.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, there was a knock on the blue-haired man's door. He opened it just a crack, peeked outside, and sighed with relief.

"Keith," he breathed, stepping aside to allow his old friend through, "I'm so glad you…"

Suddenly, a gray-furred fist smashed into the man's face. As he sprawled out over the floor, the Basitin's fur-covered body stepped into the room.

"You asshole!" He screamed, aiming a kick straight for the man's ribcage, "Pullin' your gun on a crowd! The fuck's wrong with you!"

"Had no cough choice," the man grunted, "Was turning into…lynch mob."

"And now you've dragged me into this!" The Basitin continued, so upset that he nearly wrinkled the shirt of his well-pressed police uniform, "Seriously, what the hell were you thinking!"

"I dunno," the blue-haired man pushed himself back to his feet, "I guess all these years of just watching while we did all this shit to the Kiedran, maybe this was just somethin' that's been at the back of my mind for a while and it finally chose to come out."

"Well, it picked one helluva time!" He fingered the badge pinned to his breast, "I just got this thing, man! And basitins have only had equal rights an' full citizenship status for, what, barely a year now? God, do you realize how much my bein' here could hurt all that!"

"You still came."

"I'm only here 'cause I still owe ya for pullin' my ass outta the ghetto," he offered his hand to the human as he struggled to stand, only to be refused as the blue-haired man kept himself propped up on a chair, "much as I'd hate t'admit it, if it weren't for you those gangbangers prolly would've fed me through a woodchipper and scattered me all over downtown."

"I'm really sorry, Keith. I didn't want to guilt you into anything."

"Eh, forget about it," the Basitin sighed, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket, "I was just frustrated that something like this wound up in my lap right now, of all times," he snickered, "Just when it looks like everything's comin' together…"

"…It all falls apart again, I know the feeling," the man grimaced as he yanked the cigarette from between Keith's fingers and flicked it off into a corner, "No smoking, dude. The girl needs all the fresh air she can get."

"Fair enough," Keith shrugged and pocketed the rest of his pack, "Speakin' of, where is she?"

The blue-haired man motioned to a door at the far end of the little room. The Basitin crossed over to it and peeked inside at the little Tiger Kiedran on the twin-sized bed inside.

"Wow, she is pretty cute."

"Toldja."

"Why's she still sleepin'?"

"She lost a lot of blood," the blue-haired man explained, "I'm just waiting for the transfusion to finish up right now."

Keith eyed the small, red I.V bag posted near the Kiedran's bed. Then he closed the door and looked his friend square in the eye, "Wheredja get the blood for a transfusion?"

"Stole it." He replied casually.

"Aw, for God's sake..."

"Well, after first-degree assault with a weapon, discharging a firearm in public, and violating every single rule in the police book to save her striped ass, I figured knocking over a blood bank wouldn't be that big a deal!"

The Basitin's teeth clenched slightly as he fought a massive craving for a cigarette, "y'know, you've actually got a point there. Okay, so what's the next step in the master plan, if there is one?"

"I've got a plan!" The human said defensively, "in fact, the next step's what I called you for."

"Well, what is it?"

The man nervously rubbed the back of his head, "Y'know all those contacts you made with the Japanese Alliance while you were in Arigan intelligence?"

Keith's eyes widened, "No. Nonononononononono NO!"

"Keith, c'mon! Foreign citizenship's my only chance, now!"

"Well, in case you forgot, I made all those contacts so I could spy on the Japs, which they weren't too happy with once they put two and two together!"

"Kieth, please?" The blue-haired man flashed the Basitin the saddest, puppy-dog expression a human could muster, "me and the girl are dead if you don't do this, you know that."

Keith stared into the man's eyes, trying to stay strong in the face of the human's legendary "widdle puppy-dog attack", only to cave almost instantly, "fuckin'...fine. I got a few people in the consulate I could call."

"Thanks, Kieth," the blue-haired man said gratefully.

"But after this, we're square, got it? No more special favors."

"Got it."

The Basitin nodded and disappeared into the front room with his cell phone, leaving the blue-haired man to retreat back into the Kiedran's bedroom.

She woke up the very same moment he closed the door behind him, gazing up at him with those perfect, green emeralds for eyes.

"Er…hi," he said with a sheepish grin.

"Hi," she replied woozily while trying to push herself up.

"No, don't" he gently laid a hand on her shoulder and slowly pressed her back into the bed, "You might damage the I.V."

"Where?" She croaked.

"A police safehouse, just outside the city."

"Police…" her eyes widened in terror as a couple fuses snapped back on  
in her brain, "You!"

"Eheh, sort of," he sighed, "It's gotten a bit complicated lately."

"Oh gods!" She gasped, curling up under the sheets, "I'm so sorry! I didn't want..."

"Miss, wait, you don't..." he took a step forward, and she cringed, only relaxing once he took a few steps back again. "Aw hell, I'm getting nowhere right now, am I?" He sighed, asking nobody in particular, "look, can I start over?"

"What?"

"Trace Van Rooyen," he carefully stuck his hand out (she cringed anyway). She remained curled up against the headboard for a while until, ever so slowly and tentatively, she placed her hand in his.

"Flora Ferreira," she replied carefully.

"Hello, Flora."

"H-hello Trace, wh-what are we d-doing here?"

"Well, you're healing up from the nasty beating you took from that mob last night, and I'm waiting for a friend to come in and tell us he has a way to smuggle us both out of the country."

"No, no! C'MON, FUCK!' The Basitin suddenly stormed into the room and collapsed into a chair at the foot of Flora's bed.

"Speak of the devil," Trace grumbled, "so, I take it you couldn't get ahold of the ambassador?"

"Oh no," Keith sighed, "the Alliance is sending an agent to pick us up right now."

"Oh good, so what's the problem?"

Kieth glared at him, "they're sending an Agent Natani Arai."

"Natani!"

"Yup."

"As in THE Natani!"

"Mmh-hmm."

"As in the one you..."

"Yeah."

"And then you both..."

"Uh huh."

"So you..."

"Affirmative."

"But then she..."

"Right at the altar, in front of our family and friends," the Basitin grimaced and pulled out a cigarette, "Shit, I knew I'd pissed the Alliance off pretty bad, but for them t'pull somethin' like this…"

He lit up and took a long drag off the cigarette, and for once Trace let him. "So," he said after a while, "the girl's awake, then?"

"Flora," Trace stated, now slightly peeved that it had taken him so long to acknowledge her.

"Hmm?"

""The girl" is named Flora Ferreira."

"Whatever," he took another puff off the cigarette, "so, Miss Flora…"

"You're both cops, right?" She interrupted him.

"Uh, yeah..." Keith said, a bit put-off by her newfound boldness.

"Then why are you helping me? I'm a Kiedran. You should probably be…" she shivered ever so slightly, "interrogating me, or something, right now, right?"

"Hey, don't look at me," Keith hooked a thumb towards Trace, "ask whitey over there."

The human bit his lip and backed up against the wall, glaring at his friend, "Well, Trace?" Keith asked after a while, "We're all on the edge of our seats here."

"Why did you save me?" Flora asked, her fearful, emerald-green eyes locking with his teal-blue.

"Um, I saved you...because&..." he stammered. For some reason, the words just weren't coming to him right now. He'd been rehearsing this in his head over and over, but now that he was actually facing her…

"I helped you because," he moaned inwardly. Might as well just get this over with, "because I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Her eyes widened, her jaw dropping to reveal each row of fangs contained within her mouth. She stared at him, and all he could do was shift awkwardly beneath her gaze. After a few minutes, Keith stood up, snubbed his cigarette out beneath his foot, and recited: "I've got to go wait for Natani to…so…yeah," and promptly marched out the door, leaving the blue-haired man and the tiger-like woman alone in the room.

"I…" she stammered after some more time had passed, "I…don't even know what to say. This is…beyond anything I could have expected."

"Then don't say anything," he said, kneeling beside her bed, "just…let me stay in here? Please?"

She nodded dumbly, trying desperately to ignore how warm his hand felt on hers, or how right it felt to be so close to him, but just focusing on lying in the bed while his head rested on the side of her mattress.


	3. Chapter 3

Less than an hour went by before Kieth poked his head in. "She's here," he whispered. Trace nodded and gently tugged the I.V out of Flora's arm while she tried to work herself up to moving for the first time in a day and a half. He wrapped her body in a robe and, together, they managed to ease her out of bed and hobble out the door to the black Toyota parked near the curb.

A familiar wolf-Kiedran peered at them through her sunglasses. She nodded to them all, adjusted one of the lapels on her business suit, and opened a door for Flora. It was then that a crappy little idea popped into Trace's head.

"Hey Kieth," he said, "Wouldja mind riding up front with Nat?"

"What!" He gasped as Natani's ears perked straight up.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," she said with a heavy Japanese accent.

"Yeah man, why can't you ride up front?"

"Um…" Flora put in, "actually, could Trace ride with me? He's the one who applied my bandages, so I think he'd be the best one to change them if needed."

"I…" Kieth stammered.

"But…" Natani added.

"Just..."

"Nani…"

"Please?" Flora asked, suddenly replacing Trace as the all-star sad puppy-dog look champion.

"Fine!" The Kiedran and Basitin sighed in unison. Soon, she was climbing into the driver's seat, he was climbing into the passenger's seat, and Trace was helping Flora into the back.

"You sure you want to do this for a mere Kiedran?" She asked as he hopped in next to her.

He looked her in the eye and took her furry hand into his smooth, pale one.

"I've never been more sure of something in my life," he replied. She smiled peacefully as the Toyota started and pulled away from the curb.

"There's a black-ops flight waiting for us at the airport," Natani explained, "it'll take us to Alliance territory."

"That's good," Trace mumbled, unconsciously squeezing Flora's hand.

"By the way," Flora asked, "I don't mean to pry, but what's with you and the Basitin?"

The whole car froze. Keith glared at the pair behind him. Trace simply grinned back.

"Well, go on and tell her Keith," he chimed just cheerfully enough to get on the Basitin's last nerve.

"Okay," he said darkly, turning around to stare straight through the windshield, "you wanna hear about me an' the Jap? Fine. We met while I was workin' undercover in the Japanese mainland. Wound up head over heels in love, courted for a year, then I proposed. She was ecstatic. At least, I thought she was, but come the big weddin' day she never showed up at the altar." He glared over at the Kiedran driving, "helluva way t'say: 'I don't' if y'ask me."

"You dumbass," Natani moaned, "you stupid, dickless wonder. How in the hell did you survive so long in the intelligence community? In fact, how do you dress yourself in the morning without help!"

"The hell're you gettin' at, woman!"

"Your cover had been blown, you idiot! The Alliance had assassins with orders to kill us both waiting in the audience! I had to go underground until the heat was off!"

He bolted upright in his chair, "You serious! Then why didntcha try t'find me!"

"I did," she replied icily, "I tracked you to a bar in Kyoto after a few weeks, where you were trying to hump anything and everything with a pulse. Glad it took you less than a month to forget about me!"

"Aw hell, Nat, I'd just been jilted! I thoughtcha never wanted t'see me again!" He collapsed back into his seat, "that was just me tryin' t'deal with the fact that the love of my life didn't want me no more."

Her eyes widened in shock, trying to divide her focus between the road and him. The whole car grew very quiet again.

"I still wanted you," she whispered after a while. The silence continued until she slammed on her brakes.

"Aw, sheeit!" Keith swore.

"What's up?" Trace asked, poking his head between them to get a good look out the front, "Oh, hell."

Just ahead of them, a recently-erected South Arigan police security checkpoint (complete with spike strips, pursuit cars, and at least twenty uniformed policemen armed with pistols and shotguns) blocked their path.

"Trace Van Rooyen, Natani Arai and Flora Ferreira," someone with a megaphone called from a squad car, "turn off the vehicle and put your hands in the air!"

"The Japanese government must have caught wind of this op and pulled the plug! Damn!" Natani swore through clenched teeth.

"Or maybe this is someone's way of gettin' back atcha for Tokyo," Keith sighed, "either way, we're screwed."

Suddenly, Trace had an idea, "Natani, this car's bulletproof, right?"

"Yes, but not cop proof," she groaned, "we won't last long if those pursuit cars come after us."

"Then someone needs to keep those cops in place while the rest run for the airport," he said, and before anyone could react, he pulled out his sidearm and loaded it with a fresh clip.

"Trace! What're you doing!" Flora gasped, her ears standing on end as she painfully tried to sit up.

"That cop didn't mention Keith," he replied, "which means they might not know he's involved. And Natani needs to drive you guys to the airport, which leaves just me to hold 'em off."

"But Trace…" Keith moaned.

"No buts! They probably just want me anyway. To them, Flora's just another Kiedran and Natani's just some spy they'd probably wind up deporting anyway. I'm a cop who turned to the other side, a corrupted Templar: I need to be made an example of. So they might let the rest of you get away."

"Hold on a sec," Natani reached under her seat and tossed an MP9 submachine gun to him, "you might want this. It'll be a lot more useful than that dinky little Glock."

"Thanks."

"And one more thing!" Flora added.

"Oy, Flora! I'm about to take on the whole damned South Arigan army! What is it!"

She promptly wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, passionately, right on the lips. He couldn't have been more surprised if she'd revealed she was the long-lost heir to Shaka Zulu's empire. "Just don't die, okay? You're the first human I've met who's worth his weight in dirt. I don't wanna lose you so soon after meeting you."

"I'll give it my best shot," he grinned, then immediately tucked and rolled backwards out of the car as Natani pulled it into a reverse one-eighty. His shoulder kicked up a bit of dust from the dirt road as it hit. A split-second later, he was diving for cover behind a dumpster, firing the MP9 wildly as buckshot and 9mm rounds whizzed by his head. Just like that, he was in the firefight of his life, and unfortunately the odds were very much against him.

Despite the MP9's superior firepower over police standard issue shotguns and handguns, Trace was still just one man against a small army. He knew the officers would eventually overrun him through sheer force of numbers. In all honesty, the smart man would have cut and run in the hopes of disappearing into the city's millions of alleyways and abandoned buildings.

But he was not a smart man. He was a man in love, and the only thing he could focus on was buying the Toyota behind him enough time to high-tail it out of there.  
He blind-fired a few more rounds right over the cops' heads, sending the men in the barricade diving for cover and giving him a small opening to peer over his shoulder back at the black Toyota. He watched as it squealed around a corner, slipped into an alleyway, and began to disappear into the shadows of the city. However, right before it did, for one fleeting moment he could swear he saw Flora peeking out the side window, those green eyes glowing in the darkness of the alleyway. And then, just as suddenly, she was gone.

He collapsed against the dumpster, the weapon dropping to his side. For a while, he just sat there and listened to the bullets pinging off the metal, and then a smile spread across his face.

He snickered as he pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket. "Man," he laughed lightly as he stuck it into his mouth, "if Keith knew I'd actually pocketed this thing, he'd be pissed." Searching his other pockets for something to light up with, he never even noticed that the bullets had stopped flying. At least, until three cops popped up around the dumpster and shoved their Glock pistols into his face.

"So," he said with as much disinterest as he could muster, "any of you boys got a light?"

The trial was a farce, only held to keep up the illusion of democracy and justice for the ignorant masses. Everyone involved (Trace included) knew the verdict long before it began, especially after a raid on the Van Rooyen residence revealed the massive amounts of anti-apartheid paraphernalia in his basement.

The judge was all hellfire and brimstone, putting on a real show for the cameras recording material for that night's propaganda broadcast. He made speech after speech on "human decency" and "human unity" and "strengthening the bonds that hold human society together" against the terrible "Kiedran threat." He probably said some other things too, but Trace had long tuned out the same kind of bullshit being broadcast over every radio and television every night. Besides, all he could think about was the girl in the black Toyota, now safely in Japanese Territory.

After the judge got tired of hearing himself speak, the jury stood up and thundered a unanimous: "GUILTY!" Then there was the sentencing (execution by firing squad), the handcuffing, the inevitable parade for all the news networks gathered on the steps, and finally he was hustled into the rear of a squad car for transport.

As the city passed by his window, he couldn't help but stare out at it. This was seriously going to be the last thing he saw on the outside? Another filthy, hate-filled, old city?

"So," the cop driving him asked, "Was it worth it?"

"Hmm?"

"They only give that kind of a media circus t'someone they know they're gonna execute. So whatcha did, whatever it was, was it worth it?"

Green eyes, flashing at him from the far side of an alleyway, smiled at him.

"Yeah, it really was." He said with a small smile.

The driver sighed and removed his cap, allowing a pair of gray Basitin ears to pop up into the air. Natani peered back from the passenger's seat and tossed a set of keys back to Trace.

"That's just what we wanted to hear," she grinned as somewhere very far away, the Mission: Impossible theme played while the credits rolled.

"He'll join the girl not long after," the man boomed, waving the apparition away, "They'll meet up again and begin the usual courtship until finally, after a few years, he gets down on one knee and pops the question. They marry, have kids, he writes a book about apartheid in his country which brings global attention to the atrocities going on in South Ariga," he sighed impatiently and checked the position of the sun, "blah blah blah, etcetera etcetera, and they all lived happily ever after, the end.  
"So class," he added mockingly, "What did we learn today?"

The creature in the shattered mask shrugged, "That you have a knack for editing? It was a rather skillful way you added in credits."

"You liked that," the man blushed, "oh, I thought it was a little much, so thank you. But no, that's not what you were supposed to learn."

"Then what! Why won't you just tell me already!" The creature screeched.

"My word, were you always this stupid, or are you just too delirious to see the point?" Suddenly, the man was right in front of her, "you never stood a fucking chance in stopping me, why? Because you were trying to stop a war that was inevitable in the first place? Maybe. But also because the plan you put in place for had one fundamental flaw."

"The couple, I know, but there's no way you could've known for..." she groaned, and then a light flicked on behind her eyes, "No."

The man grinned again, "Now she gets it."

"Impossible."

"Oh really? Is it so hard to believe that in the vast majority of universes, these two wound up together? Be it on, say, a futuristic warzone:" he waved his hand again, and a pair of human-like ghosts in opposing uniforms and wielding assault rifles danced around one another in tighter and tighter circles before finally coming together in the middle of the room, their masks dropping to the ground in a lovers' embrace. She managed to catch a cat-like glint in the woman's eye before the man waved them away and continued: "Or on the dance floor," and suddenly the tiger-girl was there, sitting at a bar in a wonderfully revealing outfit. After some time had passed a certain white tiger-man, his blue hair teased up into one of those godawful spiky hairstyles, strode up beside her and struck up a conversation, "I have seen these two meet in the most of impossible of situations. The medieval plane on which we now play is the norm, not the exception."

"B-but," the creature stammered, "in order to jump across so many 'verses to gather all this data, you would have to travel across dozens of realities and consume huge amounts of energy! Not to mention the time it would take to…"

The man smiled wickedly at her, "Do you remember last fall when I took that vacation for "emotional reasons"?"

Her non-existent eyes widened, "No way."

"Yes way."

"Y-you knew about my plans for that long?"

"My dearest Ephemural, this game is not just about being one move ahead, but twenty. You just have to deal with the fact that I was ahead of you from the very beginning. You have been outmatched, outwitted, outdone, and now," he snickered, pulling a great, dark cloak about himself, "you're about to be outlasted. So if you'll excuse me, we've a meeting to attend. I would like you to be there: I'd love the chance to gloat some more."

And just like that, the creature was alone in the room. She reached up in shock, touching the rapidly decaying features of her once-proud mask. He was right. He was better than her! He had been the player, and she had been the willing pawn. And now, she was about to be kicked out of the game. Permanently.

Unless…

No, she had blocked that race for a reason. They were simply too powerful, too unpredictable. If allowed into existence, they could become a threat to rival the very power of the gods themselves! But then, what was the alternative? Simply slipping into darkness?

On shaking legs, the creature pushed herself to her feet and limped into the observation room. She knew what she had to do.

God forgive her for doing it.


End file.
